An Angel's Whisper
by the-angel-of-words
Summary: After eight months of being separated from her Angel, Christine calls into the night for him once again.


"Christine?"

Raoul's voice carried down the hallway, accompanied by his approaching footsteps. The door soon swung open to reveal the Vicomte dressed in his finest suit and overcoat, a hat and walking cane tucked under one arm. He stopped at the threshold and gave a slight bow. Christine turned from her seat at the vanity and looked at the stranger her childhood friend had become.

"May I come in?"

She nodded and closed the lid to her music box. It was a simple gilded box with a small ballerina inside that played an old tune by Mozart. Raoul had told her once before to throw it away, that it was a child's toy. But her father had given it to her for her sixth birthday; there was no earthly way she could part with it. He relented at that, but Christine still felt the need to keep it hidden away from him. The music ceased and the room fell silent. Raoul moved closer and eyed the music box for a second before turning his gaze to Christine.

"I'm leaving for London. I'll only be gone for a day or two. There's an issue at the shipyard and I need to sort it out. I hate to leave you alone like this, but it's an emergency."

"It's only for one night. I'll be fine." Christine shrugged and tried to give him a reassuring smile.

Raoul studied her for a moment, his eyes piercing hers. Finally he returned the smile and nodded. "When I return, perhaps we can..."

Christine's eyes dropped to her hands and she shook her head. It had been nearly six months since they married, eight months since that fateful night beneath the Opera. After they escaped from the labyrinth, Christine had been unable to leave her room at the de Chagny chateau for several weeks. The combination of nightmares and despair for the loss of her Angel rendered her paralyzed in bed. When she finally did emerge from her dark room, Raoul was waiting. He insisted they marry immediately to protect her good name. She agreed, but things were different between them.

That first night of their marriage, Raoul entered her bed and showered her with kisses and soft whispers. He was gentle and loving, but Christine couldn't help but hide her tears against her pillow. Every night was the same: Raoul would appear, do his husbandly duties, and then vanish to his own bedchamber. He said it was important they have a child as soon as possible, to carry on the de Chagny name. Love never entered his list of reasons. For four months he maintained the ritual, but Christine's belly never grew. His visits waned with time, and then ceased all together after a less than positive visit from a doctor. Now, he barely looked at her. The way his eyes moved over her body made her shiver. It was as though he were studying her, to try and discover what was wrong. It made her feel damaged.

"I'd like to keep trying, Christine. You remember what the doctor said. It could be from the shock of all that happened...with _him_."

"I don't believe that. He never hurt me, Raoul." She shrugged again and bit her lip. "Maybe I'm just not meant to be a mother."

"Don't say that," he protested. "You'll be the most wonderful mother in the world."

"What if I never conceive, Raoul? What will become of us?" She looked up at him again, hope filling her eyes. Instead of an unwavering look of love, she saw only guarded disdain and regret on Raoul's face.

"I don't know."

Christine turned around to face the mirror of her vanity again, to hide her tears.

"Christine-"

"Just go," she muttered.

The marked sound of Raoul sighing echoed from behind her. Neither of them moved for a long moment. Silence reigned as he withdrew to the door, his hand fumbling at the handle.

"Let's talk about this more when I return. I'll see you tomorrow."

The second the door closed behind him, Christine let her tears go. After all this time, after all they had shared together, he didn't love her. All because she was broken. She buried her face in her arms and cried for the love she had lost-both the love she and Raoul once shared and for the love of her mysterious Angel. Now she felt like nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. Before she could stop herself, her thoughts turned to her Angel. She wondered if he would toss her aside as readily as Raoul.

Nearly an hour passed before her tears dried only to be replaced by a blank look of despair. Rampant thoughts still plagued her and prevented her from hearing a soft knock at her door. It came again, but more loudly.

"Come in."

"Excuse me, Madame, but I have your supper for you."

Christine turned to see her maid standing in the doorway with a silver tray in her hands. She was an older woman with silver hair and weather-worn skin. Raoul said she had been with his family since before he was born, but Christine never remembered seeing her when they were children. Nevertheless, she was very kind and more than willing to tend to every one of Christine's needs. It took a couple months for her to grow accustomed to having a maid. Even now, she felt odd asking the older woman to do anything for her.

"Thank you, Claudette, but I'm not very hungry."

Christine looked away and stared at the music box. She could feel Claudette's gaze as she continued to stand in the doorway.

"Are you feeling ill, my lady?" She quietly walked into the room and set the tray on the bedside table. Christine looked sideways at it and shook her head. The plate was still covered with a silver dome and flanked with a china pot of what was no doubt hot tea. Despite her missing lunch, the idea of food did not appeal to her in the slightest.

"I've lost my appetite. I'm sorry, Claudette, but please go. I'd like to be alone."

The older woman gave a slight nod before withdrawing, but stopped at the door. "I'll inform the Vicomte when he returns that you are sick and not to be disturbed."

"Thank you," Christine whispered with an air of relief. Having a few days to herself sounded almost wonderful...and of not being forced to succumb to Raoul's demands. The door closed behind Claudette and the room filled with silence once more.

The setting sun cast sharp shadows throughout her bedroom, the windows filling with dark orange light. As the sun's warmth receded and gave way to the creeping nightfall, Christine finally snapped out of her trance. Her fingers toyed with the music box's lid until it came open again. The tinkling music soothed her mind a bit and almost made her smile. A stray tear raced down her cheek as she looked in the mirror of her vanity. It was always times like this she would wish for her father to still be with her. But now only one person filled her thoughts: her Angel.

Every night she would dream of him, of the way his arms felt around her. His voice filled her mind as well, just as it used to when he would sing her to sleep through the mirror. On more than one occasion did she wake with the clear intention to leave for the Opera, to try and find him, to beg him for forgiveness. But the sight of Raoul always stopped her from running away. Every day she would look into his eyes and see the young boy she once loved smiling back at her. Hope for their future had not fled from her heart. Until today.

The small ballerina turned in circles as the music played on. Christine smiled and wondered if her Angel watched her dance in the same way.

"Angel. I wish you were still with me," she whispered as fresh tears trickled down her cheeks.

A sharp wind rose from the window behind her. Christine whirled to see the pane dangling open, the curtains fluttering in the night breeze. She blinked at the sudden sight of a dark shape outside her window, but it was too diffuse to identify. With a shudder, she pulled her robe closed and stood. As she approached, the curtains parted to reveal a cloaked figure with a black fedora pulled low over its face. Christine gasped and took a step away.

"No... It can't be..."

Her mind must have snapped; it all had to be a trick, a hallucination. But the figure looked up and the marked curve of a white mask met her eyes. Christine held her breath and didn't move. They stared at one another for several moments, neither of them brave enough to break the silence. As he took a step forward though, Christine found her voice.

"Is it really you? Or have I gone mad?"

He held out both hands to her and waited. When Christine didn't move closer, he whispered, "Come to your Angel."

A small cry echoed from her lips at his words. Whether or not she was dreaming or imagining this, she didn't care anymore. She rushed forward and into his arms, which he carefully wrapped around her. His cloak encased her in its warmth and covered her almost entirely. Christine bit back more tears as she pressed her face against his chest.

"Angel. You came back," she said in a wavering voice.

"I will always return to you, Christine. All you needed to do was ask." He ran a hand through her hair and then across her cheek. "I've missed you every day."

Christine couldn't help the tears at that. He still loved her, he still wanted her. His gentle embrace was a thousand times more powerful than anything Raoul had given her. The idea of never feeling her Angel's arms around her again made her heart twist with agony.

"I'm sorry, Angel. I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'm sorry for leaving you. Please...can you ever forgive me?"

"Erik."

Christine looked up at him, her face knitted with confusion. "What?"

"My name. Erik. It's long overdue you know it... Since you know I'm simply a man and not an angel."

Christine reached up and lifted away his fedora. The candlelight spilled across his mask and illuminated his mismatched eyes. She smiled at the sight.

"Erik," she echoed. "My Angel has a name."

He nodded and touched her cheek. A smile lifted at the corners of his mouth, but a haunting sadness still lingered in his eyes.

"I've come to you every night in hope you would call for me. And each night, when the Vicomte came to your room, I would return to the Opera with despair in my heart."

Christine tightened her hold on him and tried not to shake. "You've been here _every night_? Why didn't you ever come forward?" Her questions descended into a series of strangled cries. "I've _needed _you!" Before she could stop herself, she beat at his chest with both fists. "You _promised! _You promised to always protect me!"

Erik took a step back in fear, but reached to stop her assault. While gently holding her wrists, he studied her face. "Christine... What's happened to you?" His face darkened as she replied with only another sob. "Has he _hurt _you?" he growled.

Christine shoved her face into his chest and cried. Erik circled his arms around her again and held her close. After several moments, she calmed down enough to speak.

"I don't think Raoul loves me anymore. All he wants is a child. And I can't give him one." She gripped at Erik's arms to keep from collapsing to the floor. "Every night he comes here and... He forces me to try and conceive every night. But all this time...all those attempts have failed. I can't have children. No matter what Raoul does, I'm too damaged to give him what he wants. And now he's going to cast me aside because of it!"

Erik gaped at her revelation and struggled to think of what to say. But no words would suffice. Instead he tightened his embrace on her and buried his nose in her hair.

"No one wants me. Not Raoul. Not you. No one."

"That's not true, Christine." Erik leaned away and cupped her cheek. "I never stopped loving you."

Christine squeezed at his hand and tightened her jaw to squash another sob. "I wish you would have told me months ago. How could you not have seen the Hell I've been living?!"

"I never saw you two together. I would flee before his arrival. Seeing you in his arms tears me apart. But tonight, he came and left so quickly that I stayed. And when I saw you start to cry, I knew something was wrong."

"Please don't leave me again. Don't leave me with him. I can't bear his touch anymore. It burns my skin."

Erik glanced at the bedroom door and then back at Christine. "I'm not going anywhere. Give me one second though."

Christine nodded and released her tight hold on his arms to watch as Erik hurried to the door. He threw the latch and listened for any approaching footsteps. Satisfied, he returned to her and drew both hands along her shoulders.

"I'm here, Christine. I'm here with you now," he said in a soft, reassuring tone. "What can I do?"

"Just hold me and don't let go."

Erik tugged at the ribbons of his cloak and hefted the material over one arm before letting it fall over the settee at the end of the bed. Christine's breath caught; he still dressed as impeccably as ever in the finest tuxedo, complete with tails. As she studied him, she almost believed not a day had passed since the first night he had taken her to his home beneath the Opera. The way he sang to her, the way he touched her... A warmth began to grow in her abdomen at the memory, and she realized she was smiling at him.

"Christine?"

"You're still my Angel," she mused. It almost looked like Erik blushed at that, but she couldn't be certain. With another smile, she went to him and melded into his embrace. "Erik?" She toyed with the knot of his bowtie and considered her next words. When he didn't respond, she let them spill forth. "Would you...sing to me? Like you did that one night in your home?"

The sweet notes of his voice immediately filled her ears. It was the same song about his music, about her. With each phrase, she relaxed more fully into his arms. All of her defenses faded to dust in the wake of his music. It was the soothing balm her soul needed. Erik allowed his hands to drift down her sides and across her back. Instead of the horrible crawling sensation she received when Raoul did the same things to her, Christine's flesh prickled with goose bumps. A delicious shiver raced up her back and she nearly moaned.

"Erik," she whispered.

He finished his phrase and smiled at her, waiting for her to command him.

"I've longed for your touch. Please, make me feel loved. I need to feel loved again."

Erik pulled her flush against him and leaned close enough so their lips were almost touching. He didn't kiss her yet though. His eyes bored into hers, studying and searching for something. Christine's breath caught at his bold actions and she slowly raised a hand to his mask.

"No," he breathed in warning.

"Please. I want to see _you_. I kissed you twice before without this wall between us. I want to again. Please," she begged.

"You won't... You won't be frightened?"

"You could never frighten me, Ang...Erik. Will you let me see you again?"

He slowly nodded and brought her hand back against his mask. Christine gave him a gentle smile before curling her fingers beneath the porcelain's edge and lifting it up. His multitude of scars came to light, the worst of which gleamed in the low light. The twisted skin almost burned red as his face flushed. Christine could feel his hands trembling against her shoulders. She quickly set the mask aside and settled her palm on his cheek.

"There you are." Her eyes danced at the sight of her Angel as he slowly smiled. As her fingers trailed along his cheek, Christine leaned towards him and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. She paid extra attention to the sensation of his enlarged lip at the corner of his mouth. At first Erik started to move away, but she held fast to his cheeks and ran her tongue along his lower lip. He shuddered at that and locked his arms around her waist.

"Love me, Erik," she whispered between several more kisses.

He let his hands wander all over her back and sides. With a sharp breath, he turned her around to pull her back against his chest. Instead of singing to her like this, he bent his head forward and kissed the arch of her neck. Their hands entwined as he caressed every curve of her body.

Christine shivered at his touch and sighed. "I never should have left you."

Erik pressed a finger to her lips and shushed her. "No more talk of what might have been. I'm here now. You're in my arms _now_."

No more words were spoken as he meticulously ran his fingers through her hair, along her collarbone, and then down her sides to tug at the rope around her waist. Christine's breath caught at his bold maneuver, but she simply turned around to smile up at him.

"Are you in a hurry?"

Erik laughed nervously and shook his head. "No, but won't your...won't the Vicomte return soon?"

"No. He's gone to London and won't be home until tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Please don't rush. Please don't run away." She cupped his face and kissed him on the lips.

He returned her kiss with renewed courage and pulled her flush against him. They kissed one another with a desperate need. Christine caressed his scarred cheek, drawing a slight sigh from him. With her other hand she pulled at his bow tie until it came undone. She threaded her fingers around the fabric and slid it from his collar.

"Why are you dressed like this?"

Erik chuckled and tugged at the button on his collar. "I always want to look my best for you, Christine."

She smiled and kissed his exposed neck. "You always do."

A sudden knock at the door split them apart and Erik fled to the shadows. Christine looked over to see him hiding in the dark corner near the window. She moved towards him, but he motioned for her to stop.

"Madame?" Claudette's voice was muffled from behind the door.

Christine sighed and went to answer her. She was greeted with a confused look on Claudette's face, no doubt due to the sound of her throwing open the door's latch.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Pardon me, Madame. I only came to fetch your dinner tray."

"Oh. Come in then," she said taking a step aside. The older woman nodded and entered the room, but not without shooting a glance at the open window.

"It's going to be cold tonight, my lady. Shall I close the window for you?"

Christine took one frantic step towards the window. "No," she snapped.

Claudette froze. "I'm sorry, Madame."

"Just take the tray and go. I'd like to be alone. Please don't disturb me. I'll see you in the morning at breakfast." Christine softened her gaze, but still didn't move from between Claudette and where Erik was hiding.

"As you wish, my lady." She fetched the tray and moved to leave, but stopped near the doorway. "He still loves you."

Christine whirled and stared at her. _How did she know about Erik?_

"I know Monsieur has been distant for some time, but he still loves you. Don't lose heart, Madame."

"Thank you, Claudette, but I know that's not true."

"Madame?"

Christine's face darkened as she took two steps towards the maid. "I _know_ he takes other women into his bed. That's why he keeps me here. That's why he never shares his bedchamber with me. So please, spare me your false reassurance."

Claudette took a step back in a mixture of fear and shock. Christine _never_ spoke in such a way, even to her. Perhaps it was Erik's presence that fueled her courage and caused her to speak her mind.

"Tell me Claudette... If I am never able to give the Vicomte a child, what will he do? Does he plan to divorce me?"

The maid said nothing. Christine took her silence as her resistance to confirm everything she feared.

"Get out. And don't you dare feed me anymore of Raoul's lies!"

She hurried from the room without another word. Christine closed and latched the door with a strangled cry. Tears were already running down her cheeks as she turned to see Erik standing behind her. He didn't speak, rather only holding out his arms, a saddened look on his bare face. She stifled another cry and went to him, whispering his name as he enveloped her in a gentle embrace.

"You were never the real monster, Angel. It was always Raoul."

Erik brushed away her tears with his thumbs before kissing her again. "I've always tried to be an angel for you."

"I don't want an angel anymore. I just want someone to love me."

"You know I do, Christine."

She smiled and pressed several kisses to his scarred cheek. Erik turned his face to catch her lips with his. Their kiss boldened into something full of need, something of pure desire. As their mouths entwined, Erik guided her towards the bed while tugging off his suit coat.

"Let me love you, Christine. Just as I meant to over a year ago when I first brought you to my home." His words were glazed with a slight uncertainty, but his eyes burned with fiery passion. It took Christine's breath away.

"Yes," she whispered with another kiss. Feeling more assured of herself than earlier, she tugged at the buttons on his shirt and then yanked its length from the waistband of his pants. The chilled air from outside sent a shiver across his bared chest. Christine rested both hands on his exposed skin and leaned down to press a soft kiss over his heart. Erik let the shirt fall from his arms before wrapping them around her again, this time to settle her on the bed. He knelt next to her and kicked off his shoes, his lips never moving far from hers.

Usually it was right around this time that Christine would start to grow fearful and apprehensive, as though the next actions would destroy her from the inside out. But while Raoul was stilted and careless, Erik moved fluidly and gave extra attention to every tiny motion he made. His fingertips almost danced along her collarbone like they would the keys of his organ, and her body sang for him. They both reached for the tie on her robe this time and pulled it open. Erik shuddered as his hands snuck between fabric and flesh to feel the warmth of her skin against his hands. Christine bit her lip and arched her back.

"Erik..."

He kissed the line of her neck and hummed in response, his hands moving up along her sides.

"Erik?"

With one more kiss to her collarbone he lifted his head to look her in the eye. "What is it?"

Christine cupped his cheeks and studied his face, her fingers tracing the most severe scar on the right side. He leaned into her hand and smiled. There was something in his eyes she had never once seen in Raoul's, something that struck her to the core and left her trembling: pure unadulterated love. She returned his smile and traced his lower lip with her thumb.

"Make love to me."


End file.
